The rain had just begun to fall when Sir Gildegarde Brisbane II
fled from Farchrist Castle after his banishment and humiliation. He was lost,
he knew that, and his decision had already been made, but before he went
through with his desperate plans, he ran into the City Below the Castle for a
final errand. He ran through the streets like a lost soul, tears mixing with
the rainwater on his face. When he arrived at the house, he knocked and waited
politely, feeling too ashamed and too filthy to go barging in anywhere. Amanda
answered the door, and when Brisbane saw her, he almost forgot his plans and
fell sobbing at her feet. But he steeled himself and kept his words short. He
made only three statements. First, he said what the King had done to him.
Second, he warned Amanda to flee the city before anyone caught wind of the
scandal. Third, he told her he loved her. Brisbane then turned and fled into
the night. It was the last time my mother ever saw my father.

+
+ +

Brisbane regained consciousness
face down on the north bank of the Mystic River. He sputtered some water out of
his lungs, pain lancing through his chest, and tried to lift his face out of
the river mud. A rough hand pushed his head back down into the wet earth and a
croaking voice sounded out in a language he did not recognize. Somebody was
perched on top of him, driving a heavy knee into the small of his back and
furiously tying his wrists together with some kind of cord. Brisbane was too
dazed to do much of anything, just beginning to remember his plunge from the
stone hand of Grecolus, into the mountain lake, and over the waterfall. The
person on top of him soon had his hands secured behind his back and cruelly dragged
him to his feet by pulling up on his fastened arms.

Through the river mud that must
have covered his face, Brisbane saw who his captors were and where it was he
had been captured. They were orks, six of them, much like the eight he and his
friends had killed so far down the river so long ago. They were rough and
brutish-looking, all over six feet tall and all clad in mismatched sets of
black chain and platemail. Their pink pig-noses stuck out from their ugly faces
like trophies and their small, up-thrusting tusks glistened with saliva. Each
had a black shield decorated with a single red eye. Beyond them, Brisbane could
see his surroundings and he recognized them. He must have floated unconscious
down the river for quite some distance. They stood nearly in front of the cave
where Brisbane and his companions had fought the ettins.

The ork holding him from behind
pushed Brisbane down to his knees and stood painfully on the backs of his
ankles. Brisbane cried out and, as he knelt there immobilized, the other five
orks wrestled his chainmail poncho off over his head. He had lost his shield
and his helmet somewhere in the river, but he was relieved to see Angelika was
still strapped to his side.

His armor removed from him, the
cutting of a few leather straps required to get it past his bound hands, one of
the orks threw the heavy mesh over his shoulder like a blanket and another one,
the largest one, stepped forward and began to undo the buckle that held
Angelika to Brisbane’s belt. Brisbane fought to twist away from his captors,
but the ork behind him stomped on his feet and lifted his arms to a painful
elevation. Before he could do anything about it, the largest ork had taken
Angelika from him and held her, still in her scabbard, out in front of himself.

For a moment, Brisbane was sure
his brain was going to explode, sending gray shrapnel out of his ears and
bursting his eyeballs. The sheer and utter rage he felt at having Angelika
taken from him burned through him like fire and with unknown and superhuman
strength, he leapt up, throwing the ork who had been standing on his ankles
back into the water, and snapped the cords holding his wrists behind his back
like pieces of dry kindling.

His hands were around the throat
of the ork who held Angelika in a flash and Brisbane drove him to the ground,
choking off his air supply as Angelika fell unnoticed to the earth.

“She’s mine!” Brisbane screamed,
his voice discordant to sane ears, as he dug his fingers deep into the ork’s
neck until he was certain, with a kind of giddy glee, that the ork’s skin would
break and he would be able to tear vein after vein out of his neck, snapping
them like guitar strings tuned too tightly.

The other orks were upon him in a
moment and combined they could not drag Brisbane off their leader, the ork who
had dared to touch Angelika, the unholy beast who had tried to foul that
enchanted blade.

Brisbane began to laugh as he
watched the ork’s eyes roll back into his head, a sickening, wailing scream
that only sounded like a laugh to his own ears. The other five orks were still
struggling to pull Brisbane’s hands away from their leader’s throat. They had
made little progress and Brisbane began to beat the back of the ork’s head
against the hard earth along the river bank.

Suddenly, a great weight came down
on the back of Brisbane’s neck and he collapsed onto his victim. He swam in and
out of consciousness for a moment and then jerked back to reality when he was
rolled over onto his back next to the ork he had attacked. The ork who had been
standing on his ankles, the one Brisbane had thrown into the river, stood
dripping over him with his short, thick sword raised over his head. Just as
Brisbane was sure the ork was going to bring the blade down to finish him, the
ork paused, the sword frozen over his head and his eyes wide in amazement. The
fight had suddenly gone out of him, and Brisbane could not fathom why he was
not being killed.

Sunlight winked at him from
something on his chest. In the struggle, the small silver pentacle medallion he
wore around his neck had worked its way out from underneath his tunic and now
lay sparkling against his chest. This is what had transfixed the ork.

Brisbane did not have the chance
to take advantage of the lull. Just as he realized the cause of the ork’s
hesitance, the ork dropped his sword to his side and shouted out a single word
to his companions. Brisbane did not understand the word, it must have been in
the ork’s own twisted tongue, but it sounded like “groo-mack.”

The remaining orks were on him in
an instant. They quickly flipped him over and began to retie his hands together
at the wrists, this time much more tightly and restricting, and they violently
stuffed an awful-tasting gag into his mouth.

Brisbane fought as much as he
could, but there was something different now. The spirit that had possessed him
had passed out of his body. The ork he had strangled lay unmoving beside him.
If Brisbane had killed him, he might have been the last creature Brisbane would
ever kill. Before long, Brisbane was tightly tied and gagged, and completely at
the mercy of the orks.

Having incapacitated their
prisoner again, the orks went over to check on their fallen leader. They
crudely tested his vital signs and then stood up and moved away. It was obvious
there was nothing to be done. The ork was dead.

The ork who had been standing on
Brisbane’s ankles, the one who had recaptured Brisbane, went over to the fallen
leader and began to remove any valuables the dead ork had carried. Brisbane
watched him, still laying on his stomach beside the running Mystic, as the ork
removed the leader’s sword and shield from the ork’s dead grasp. He also took a
small sack that had been tied at his waist. He then stood up and nodded to his
companions. The four of them came over and picked up the body, each grabbing a
limb, and then carried him over to the river and threw him in. The armor-laden
corpse sank quickly to the bottom.

The four orks came back to what
Brisbane presumed was their new leader. He barked an order at them and they
wrestled Brisbane roughly to his feet. They held him up in front of their
leader, and he looked Brisbane over dubiously.

Brisbane looked the ork over in
turn. He tried not to let his fear show in his eyes or in his posture, but it
was not easy. Brisbane was terrified. He had been taken captive by a party of
orks and any animosity they might have had for him certainly had not been
lessened by his strangling one of their number. Brisbane reflected on that now
and had a hard time believing he had actually done it. The memory of his rage
was like a dream, quickly fading and soon forgotten. It was just that when the
ork had touched Angelika—

The ork. He was still staring
Brisbane up and down and Brisbane became acutely aware of his own presence and
surroundings. His chest hurt—every time Brisbane took a breath it felt like he
was fanning a fire—and his vision was still popping with black spots from the
blow he had received on the back of the neck. For the first time since he had
regained consciousness, he realized it had stopped raining. The ork facing him
was a huge creature, an inch or two shorter than himself, but easily massing
just as much. The face of an ork was so different from that of a human Brisbane
could only guess at which facial expressions denoted with emotions, but he felt
he could be sure that this evil, flesh-eating monster was horrificly mad at
him. This knowledge did nothing to assuage his trepidation about the length of
his future in the hands of these creatures.

But there was his medallion. It
had given the ork pause and had kept him from killing Brisbane. And even now,
Brisbane thought he saw, around the eyes, a latent measure of fear in the ork’s
face. What did the pentacle symbol mean to these orks? Brisbane did not know.
In human society, it was the mark of a wizard, a mystical force-shaper in some
eyes, a servant of Damaleous in others. It obviously meant something to these
orks as well, and that something, whatever it was, had kept Brisbane alive so
far.

The ork said something in his own
language and the others gave some short laughs. Brisbane kept his eyes on their
new leader and, as he spoke, Brisbane saw his sharp teeth were a mass of
twisted and overlapping ivories. A name came unbidden to Brisbane’s mind, Snaggletooth, and in his thoughts, that
became how he began to refer to the new leader of the party of orks.

Snaggletooth said something else
to the others and then went over to where Angelika lay on the river bank.
Brisbane’s muscles tightened against the bonds that held him as the ork picked
up his sword and examined the scabbard closely. The scabbard was an ordinary
one, but the emerald in the base of Angelika’s pommel told any observer that
the blade inside was something special. Snaggletooth returned to stand in front
of Brisbane with Angelika in his claw-like hands. Brisbane felt the insane rage
begin to build up inside him again, pushing his heart up into his throat.

No, young Brisbane. They will kill you this time.

It was Angelika. Her sweet and
seductive voice quenched his fire immediately. Brisbane became strangely calm
in the grasps of the other orks. He felt like he could melt right through them
if he had to.

But Angelika, Brisbane thought, reaching out
for his sword’s consciousness. I will not
let them touch you. It’s wrong. It’s…it’s…

Sacrilege. I know, Brisbane. But worry not. Their kind cannot use
me. This one will not even be able to draw me from my scabbard.

Indeed, Brisbane watched as
Snaggletooth tugged on the hilt of the sword, trying to free it from the metal
scabbard. The ork’s muscles were straining, but Angelika would not come loose.

Angelika! Brisbane’s thoughts were crying. I cannot bear this separation from you. Make
him give you back to me. Do something!

I cannot, Brisbane. I have no control over his kind. But neither
do they have control over me. Be patient. I promise, our conquest of evil is
not finished. Be strong and be true, and soon we will be rejoined.

Angelika—

Brisbane. Vengeance will be ours. They shall be vanquished.

Angelika, I need you. I…I…

I know, young Brisbane. I know. Keep me in your thoughts and I
will never be far away.

Snaggletooth snapped at Brisbane
in an angry tone of voice. Brisbane shrugged his shoulders. He could not
understand the ork’s language. Snaggletooth punched him suddenly in the solar
plexus and Brisbane doubled over in pain. The orks holding him forcefully
straightened him back up.

I can’t understand you, you stupid pighead bastard!

Snaggletooth barked another order
at his subordinates and Brisbane was shoved off in the direction of the ettins’
cave. They started to move towards it, Snaggletooth leading, followed by
Brisbane and the four orks, one of whom kept a firm grip on the bonds that held
Brisbane’s wrists together. Snaggletooth still held onto the scabbarded
Angelika, carrying her in his hand while his own sword was belted at his side.
He had given the ex-leader’s sword and shield to his men, but had kept the sack
to himself. Brisbane could only assume it contained some gold or something of
some other value. All the orks had similar sacks, but the ex-leader’s was by
far the fullest.

The procession entered the cave,
losing the benefit of sunlight, and were swallowed by consuming darkness.
Brisbane was instantly blinded and he unconsciously slowed his pace. He was
rewarded with a shove from behind. Evidently, the orks had no trouble seeing in
the dark.

Something nagged at Brisbane as
they made their way deeper and deeper into the cave. Something was amiss. In a
moment he had it. When he had been here last, in the battle with the ettins,
Roystnof had lit the cave up with one of his light spells.

ROYSTNOF! The memory of his friend
and the rest of his companions came flooding in on him like a deluge. Where
were they now? Still at the top of that mountain? Fighting with that strange
bird-monster? How much time had passed since he had fallen off that hand? Would
his friends ever be able to find him?

Tears welled up in his eyes as he
realized he didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. An unwanted
feeling came up in his heart, a feeling he would never see any of them again,
and as soon as it appeared, the feeling nestled into his heart like a
certainty. He could logically argue against it, but it would never do any good.
Down deep, he would always know better.

But he had to put it aside for the
moment, lest he break down in front of Snaggletooth and his goons, and Brisbane
swore to himself he would never let that happen. His eyes had begun to adjust
to the darkness of the cave and he could now see they had entered the large
chamber where the ettins had been sleeping. He could see their huge forms
amidst the boulders that cluttered the floor, tacky with their own blood. The
smell of their deaths hung heavy in the air and it made Brisbane sick to his
stomach.

What happened to Roystnof’s light
spell? The question nagged him like a shrewish wife. There were two
possibilities, he knew, one of which he clung to like a life line and the other
he tried to ignore like a punished child. His hope lay in the easy answer, that
Roystnof had dispelled the magical luminance after they had left the cave and
Brisbane had not noticed him do it. It was entirely possible. Brisbane had not
been paying much attention and Roystnof was one of the last ones out of the
cave. And it was logical, Roystnof would not have wanted to leave any evidence
they had been there in case the ettins had any friends around. His fear, on the
other hand, was that something had happened to Roystnof. He remembered Dantrius
insisting that Roystnof’s magic lantern would cease to function after the
wizard’s death. Suppose Roystnof had been killed in the inevitable battle with
the bird-monster after Brisbane had taken his plunge? After all, Roystnof
hadn’t dispelled his magic light in the basement of the shrine where Brisbane
had killed the demon.

The orks brought Brisbane to a
halt in the center of the slaughtered ettins. Snaggletooth came up to Brisbane,
close enough so Brisbane could see his features in the dark cave. The ork
surveyed the carnage around them and then returned his gaze to Brisbane.

Does he think I did this? Brisbane thought. Brisbane had
done most of it, but that didn’t mean Snaggletooth had to know. Brisbane
remembered Roystnof saying ettins were somehow related to orks. Suppose these
ettins had been friends of these orks? Just another reason for them to hate
him. Brisbane was not sure how much protection his medallion offered, but he
wasn’t too interested in finding out.

Snaggletooth began to say
something but cut himself off. He shook his head in frustration and Brisbane
smiled inwardly at Snaggletooth’s language barrier. He was sure the ork wanted
to question him about the death of the ettins, but was unable to because he
could not make himself understandable to Brisbane.

Snaggletooth’s reaction to this
realization was, again, to punch Brisbane in the gut. This one hurt much more
than the first one had, and Brisbane screamed into his gag. The ork said
something to his goons and Brisbane was dragged off to one side of the cavern.

Brisbane reached out to Angelika,
who Snaggletooth still carried in his hand. Help
me, Angelika. I need you.

Her voice answered immediately. There is nothing I can do until I am once
again in your hands. Be strong. That time will come.

How do you know?

I know.

A light dawned in Brisbane’s head.
Angelika, do you know if Roystnof is
still alive?

This I cannot say.

Brisbane and the orks were tucked
away in one of the rough corners of the ettins’ cave. Snaggletooth separated
himself from the others and stood, with arms outstretched, in front of the
rough stone wall. A silence fell among the other orks and Brisbane’s interest
immediately perked up. Something was about to happen.

Snaggletooth, his arms still
outstretched, beckoning to the stone wall, said one word in his strange orkish
tongue. Ursh-low. Brisbane heard it
distinctly. He had no idea what it meant, but he was sure that was what
Snaggletooth had said.

There was a grinding noise in the
cave, like stone being scraped against stone, and before Brisbane’s
dark-adjusted eyes, the section of the wall Snaggletooth was standing before
began to swing open like a door.

It was a door. A secret door like
the one Shortwhiskers had found at the entrance of the temple or at the end of
that endless tunnel. Except this door wasn’t opened by pushing on a certain
spot slow, steady, and right into the wall. This secret door was opened with a
word. A magic word. Ursh-low. Open sesame.

Magic? Did Snaggletooth and the
orks have their own type of magic? What else could they do? In all the rumors
Brisbane had heard about orks, none of them ever said anything about them
having magical powers. They were reputed to be insanely evil, maliciously cruel
monsters who attacked without fear or quarter, but they were not supposed to be
wizards. Brisbane wondered if he shouldn’t try to forget everything he had ever
heard about orks.

The section of wall had opened all
the way to reveal a pitch black tunnel leading down into the very bowels of the
Crimson Mountains. Snaggletooth turned to look at Brisbane and there was a
definite smile on his lips. It spread out under his pig nose like a wound and
revealed nearly all of his snaggled teeth. It made him look like a demon out of
some hellish nightmare.

Brisbane decided he was not going
to be taken into that dark tunnel. To hells with that idea. Once that door shut
behind them—with a dull, hollow thump, like the dropping of a coffin lid,
Brisbane was sure—the little light they received from the cave’s entrance would
be gone and Brisbane would be lost in a world of darkness with only five angry
orks as his guides. Well, he was not going to let that happen. Brisbane let his
legs go slack and he sat down hard on the floor of the cave.

The orks bunched up around him,
grumbling at him and poking him with their stiff fingers. Brisbane tried to
ignore them. He crossed his legs and bowed his head. Snaggletooth broke his way
through his men and stood in front of the sitting human.

Brisbane stared at the ork’s feet,
housed in worn boots and blackly present in the darkness. Go to the hells, Snaggletooth. I’m not moving. Quicker than
Brisbane would have thought possible, Snaggletooth’s right foot swung up and
hit Brisbane right in the face. His head rocked and he rolled over onto his
back. Pain lit up the area around him and Brisbane was sure the ork had caved
his face in. The other orks brought Brisbane to his feet and he offered up no
resistance.

Snaggletooth put his face back
into Brisbane’s and shouted something, evidently not caring that Brisbane could
not understand him. Brisbane knew the punch was coming before it landed, but
somehow, it still took his internal organs by surprise. A broken face and now
something ruptured in his gut. This rebellion tactic certainly had its
attractions.

Brisbane was pushed, wheezing for
breath and bleeding from the cheek, into the dark tunnel behind the advancing
form of Snaggletooth. The four other orks followed behind, one with his hands
clamped firmly on the bonds that secured Brisbane’s arms behind his back.

Brisbane cried out to Angelika,
searching for any kind of solace she might be able to offer.

Be strong, young Brisbane. Our time will come.

The secret stone door shut behind
them, dropping the small group into the gloom of utter blackness. Brisbane was
wrong. When it shut, it sounded more like a prison door than a coffin lid.